


Sign Language

by Adrenalineshots



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Edrisa is made of awesome, Episode 4 coda, Episode Tag, Gen, Hurt Malcolm Bright, Malcolm & Edrisa friendship, Malcolm Bright Needs a Hug, Nakedness, Papa Gil, Season 2, Spoilers, awkward sitiations, kind of?, non sexual body fluids, prove me wrong, silliness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-12
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-12 15:15:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29386872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adrenalineshots/pseuds/Adrenalineshots
Summary: The human body is not designed to receive that many electrical shocks without consequences. This is a story about those. Set in season 2, after episode 4 'Take your father to work day'
Comments: 19
Kudos: 80





	Sign Language

Malcolm was a trained profiler. He could look at suspects and know exactly what they were thinking, what they were planning to do. He could accurately guess whether the next words coming out of their mouths were going to be the truth or a blatant lie. One fleeting look, a minuscule twitch of the lips, a single drop of sweat beading their eyebrow, and Malcolm Bright instantly knew what was going on inside their heads.

Malcolm could read every single micro-expression in the human body of his suspects and figure out what would happen next. His body signals, however, were still a puzzling mystery to him.

He had been tased before. As a matter of fact, Malcolm had been on the wrong end of a set of taser prongs more often during his life than it was considered healthy. Or probable. Or even mathematically conceivable.

His bad luck was a mathematical conundrum, that's what it was.

Be that as it may, he should have recognized the signs sooner. It would have gone a long way to prevent his current position in Edrisa's car.

*§*

It had hurt like hell at the time. That part was expected. That part Malcolm was  _ familiar  _ with.

The first time Rhonda had pulled the taser's trigger, the profiler had almost been able to see his muscles individually spasming, wildly contracting and expanding on themselves like something was, at the same time, trying to weld together and rip apart every single cell inside his chest.

Fifteen seconds. That was how long an average taser discharge lasted. Fourteen, if he was really lucky.

At some distant corner of his mind, Malcolm started a silent countdown until the low electric current causing havoc on his body would shut off. He could take fifteen seconds of being unable to pull in a breath, of feeling like his skin had been set on fire, of loathing the sounds being ripped from his throat without his consent.

Fifteen seconds could feel like an eternity, but as his count hit zero, Malcolm could finally take a lung full of air and feel his muscles somewhat relax.

It didn't last long.

Rhonda, it would seem, had an acquired taste for watching people contorting on the floor like fish out of water. She pulled the trigger again, over and over, each discharge overlapping the previous until Malcolm's brain turned off and fifteen seconds melted together into minutes, hours, days.

Malcolm lost track of time. His existence reduced to the next fleeting chance to suck in a desperate breath, his body never really relaxing, riding a train of continuous abuse until all he could feel was pain. Sounds were coming out of his mouth, sometimes words, most times just incoherent moans and screams. Half the time, he didn't even recognize them as his own.

There were other screams and words joining his at some point, -minutes, days?- after Rhonda decided to go from simply tasing him to slow-cooking his insides. And then it stopped.

Well, it mostly stopped. Malcolm inwardly knew that the taser was no longer shooting electric pulses into his body, but he was still shaking so badly it felt like it was, like his body had taken over the torture and was seizing on him. Ice cold and blazing heat were fighting for dominance over his insides like his body temperature gauge had been broken. And his heart was racing.

That was the first sign he failed to read.

*§*

His clothes had been drenched in cold sweat by the time Malcolm peeled them off, stepping inside his shower. The water felt cold against his skin, even though he was pretty sure he had turned on the hot tap.

There were two parallel red blotches on his chest, just below the endpoint of his sternum.  _ Xiphoid process _ , his father's voice promptly provided the right name. Despite his best efforts, Malcolm couldn't make his brain forget any of the lessons he had learned at the Surgeon's lap.

The profiler had fled Claremont Hospital as soon as Rhonda was in custody and his father was back inside his cell. His sister and her camera crew had been blessedly gone by the time he passed through the gates, sparing him the trouble of avoiding her.

Dani had offered him a ride home, but he had seen the worried looks she had been sending his way ever since Malcolm had wobbled his way through slapping a pair of handcuffs on Martin Whitly. That ride was an offer laced with t _ errible  _ possibilities, Malcolm knew it without a shadow of a doubt. The perceptive detective had seen how unsteady he was, the unhealthy shine of sweat covering his skin and the way his eyes refused to quite focus all the way and she was itching to do something about it.

Malcolm knew that if he voluntarily stepped inside a car with her, he would end involuntarily stepping out at a hospital.

And the inside of yet another hospital was the last place where Malcolm wanted to be at the moment. Besides, his heart had resumed its normal pace,  _ somewhat _ . All he needed was a hot shower and a good night's sleep.

His body would ache for days, Malcolm knew as much from his previous encounters with a taser gun. His muscles had been forced to run the gamut of half the Olympic sports without him moving from the same spot and that kind of workout had consequences. The hot water helped, but unless the profiler found a way to stay submerged in it for the following week, he was still going to feel like a ninety-nine year old after a flight of stairs.

As it turned out, all Malcolm could afford was a few minutes under the steady spray of his shower. The warmth of the hot water had finally started to breach the cold carcass of his skin when his cellphone started to ring. He opened his eyes, searching for the device on the dark countertop where he had left it. The word ' _ Mother _ ' was plain to see on the display even from that distance.

The idea of ignoring her and returning to the bliss of hot water peppering his sore back muscles was like a siren song calling to his will, but Malcolm thought better of it. His mother was currently asking too many questions and if he didn't keep a close eye on her inquisitive mind, the profiler knew it would only be a matter of time before his mother figured out what had really happened to her precious rug.

Not bothering to pick up a towel, Malcolm stepped out of the shower and reached for his phone. His hand was shaking by the time his wet fingers managed to get the touch screen to work and hit 'accept'. A cold sweat broke out on top of the beads of water already covering his body, his stomach turning as he thought of the possible reasons for his mother's call at that hour. What if she had already put everything together? How would she react to Ainsley's actions?  _ His _ ?

Taking a calming breath that did absolutely nothing for his frayed nerves, Malcolm closed his eyes and forced his voice to sound steady. “Hello, mother.”

Inside his chest, his heart had started to race again, hammering against his ribs like it wanted to push out.

That was the second sign he failed to read.

*§*

It felt oddly peaceful to leave his mother's house after finding out that she had figured out pretty much everything that had happened the night Endicott met his messy end.

On one hand, there was the horrible realization that his mother would now be forced to carry the same burden he had been struggling to carry ever since Ainsley had turned into a murderer. But on the other...Jessica knowing the truth meant that now Malcolm could talk with someone other than his murderous father about what had happened, that he could count on the help of someone with non-murderous inclinations and lack of raging psychopathy to keep Ainsley safe.

It felt like a weight had been lifted from his chest. Which didn't explain why said chest had started to hurt as he walked down the steps of his mother's house. Or why the street lamps had apparently stopped working and the world around him was dimming at the edges.

Malcolm reached out for the railing, nearly losing his step as his legs momentarily losing their solid state.

A small, still functioning part of Malcolm understood that there was something seriously wrong with him. That part of his brain that never really stopped working told him that it was probably related to the fact that he had been tased over ten times earlier that day. It was also the same part of his brain that was currently screaming at him to go back to his mother and call 911.

He did neither because if there was one thing that Malcolm had grown proficient at doing during his troubled life, was ignoring his brain.

He called Edrisa instead.

*§*

The last thing Edrisa imagined happening that night was getting a phone call from Malcolm Bright, profiler extraordinaire. She had just poured a bucket worth of puzzle pieces over the top of the small table in the middle of her living room, set a nice bowl of chocolate ice cream by her side, and dressed in the most comfortable set of pajamas that she owned -what if there was an imprint of an open ribcage decorating the top? They were both cool  _ and  _ comfy- and was ready for an evening of pure puzzle bliss when her phone started ringing somewhere in the house.

She couldn't actually remember where she had left it, so she just followed the sound. Slowly.

She was not on call that night and, whoever had decided to call her at that lousy hour, either had a very good reason and would wait for her to pick up, or was a wrong number that would eventually give up.

The phone was still ringing when Edrisa finally located it on top of her microwave. At least it wasn't  _ inside _ . This time.

“ _ Edrisa? _ ”

The voice on the other end was faint and kind of breathy, but the medical examiner would recognize it anywhere. “Bright?”

“Alley south of my mother's place,” he rushed the words out like there was a time limit on his phone call. Was he calling from a phone booth and running out of coins? Did phone boots even exist still? “Pick me up...please?”

“I...sure,” Edrisa let out, agreeing more out of habit than because of an informed decision. A million questions were racing through her mind, but before she could decide which one to ask first, the connection ended on the other side and she was left with a muted phone glued to her ear.

Why had Malcolm called her of all people? She assumed he wanted a ride home, which meant that either Gil or Dani would be the most obvious choices. JT too on any other time, but he was currently busy at home with his newborn son. Hell! Never mind co-workers, Malcolm could have easily called an Uber or stuck out his thumb for a cab!

How did he even know she had a car? Or knew how to drive?

Well, he was a very observant man, and she tended to leave her belongings all over her workspace. He might have seen the car keys on her desk at some point...

It was only after Edrisa was out the door, having paused only long enough to pick up a jacket and her car keys, that she realized she had no idea where Malcolm's mom lived.

Fortunately for her, Google knew. Nothing like being the heir of half of New York, not to mention the ex-wife of a notorious serial killer, for Jessica's home address to be anything but private. It was on the other side of Manhattan, which should have made it impossible to reach at rush hour, but it was already late enough that traffic was almost manageable. Edrisa was pretty sure she was breaking more than a few traffic laws, but she was able to reach her destination in less than twenty minutes.

There had been something on Malcolm's voice that told her to hurry, that twenty minutes was going to be too late, but Edrisa mostly blamed that on her over-imaginative mind. Mostly.

She had no idea which way was south, but the alley on one side of the Whitlys' house was too narrow to fit anything larger than a rat, so she decided 'south' was the next alley.

Parking the car with all blinkers on -she wasn't planning on staying for long-, Edrisa picked up her phone and clicked the flashlight app on. The alley was not exactly dark, and the neighborhood was insanely safe and fancy, but she was a small sized woman dressed in nothing but her pajamas. Holding that bright light in her hand gave her some measure of security.

Speaking of bright...

Malcolm wasn't exactly slumped on the floor, more like crouching closer to the ground, his long coat dragging across the dirt. Had he been anyone else, Edrisa would assume the brilliant profiler was drunk. “Bright? Are you okay?”

His eyes were red-rimmed when he looked up at her, flinching when the light from her phone attacked his pupils. “Edrisa...you're here,” he said, sounding as out of breath as he had been on the phone.

There was such relief and surprise to his words that, for a second there, Edrisa thought she was imagining the whole thing. He had asked her to come,  _ right _ ?

It was no secret around the precinct that she harbored a non-too-subtle crush on the resident profiler. The whole thing had evolved to some sort of background white noise, always there but never completely real, almost like a comical punch line to everyone. To a certain point, that was true even for Edrisa and Malcolm, because she would never take the first step and he wouldn't even know how. So, it was there but, at the same time, it wasn't.

That didn't mean that Edrisa hadn't imagined a situation or two when this unspoken thing between the two of them developed into something more than witty remarks and harmless flirting. In her imagination, Malcolm had sounded breathless too, just like that, even if circumstances were largely more sexy than a filthy, dark alley near his mother's house.

“Of course I'm here,” she found herself saying because that much was obvious. Everything else was up for grabs. “Why are you on the ground?”

His eyes flickered in the direction of his mother's house. “I need a favor,” he said instead of answering her question. “Drive me to the nearest mall?”

*§*

Strangely enough, the best solution for the damage the taser's electrical discharges had caused to his heart, was more electrical discharges. Precisely somewhere in between fifty to a hundred joules worth of it.

And Malcolm knew just where to find something that could -relatively- safely deliver them.

Due to a rising number of people dying in the middle of the street before professional help could reach them, a few years back portable automated external defibrillators had been placed on several public spaces all over New York and the rest of the US territory. Schools, libraries, large stadiums, and even shopping malls. The precinct had one too, tucked in a corner near the reception desk. They were life saviors available to anyone without any medical knowledge, able to detect when a heart was beating wrong and programmed to do the right thing about it.

And right now, one of those was going to be Malcolm's life savior.

“Why are we going to the mall?” Edrisa asked again, stealing a sideways glance. She had been doing that a lot since she had practically carried his ass towards her car. “Are you aphasic? Did you mean ' _ hospital _ ' but it came out ' _ mall _ '? Oh my God, are you having a stroke?”

Malcolm almost rolled his eyes. He was pretty sure he would pass out if he did it for real. “I'm not having a stroke, Edrisa,” he said as calmly and coherent as he could muster at that point. The words came out right and almost unslurred, so he was pretty sure he wasn't. “I think I am experiencing self-controlled bursts of ventricular tachycardia.”

The car shrieked to a stop as Edrisa stepped on the breaks a little too hard. “How is that better!?” she squeaked, her voice all but consumed by fear. The only other time Malcolm had heard her speak like that, a poisonous snake had been steadily climbing up her leg. “I'm taking you to the nearest hospital!”

Malcolm closed his eyes. Even though Edrisa was the only one is his contact list that would actually listen to his reasoning before dragging his ass to an ER, she was also a medical professional who could risk her license if he died in her car. “There is no need for that,” he tried, pulling a deep breath and looking steadily at her. Her hair was all over the place and she was dressed in the scariest pajamas he had ever seen before. It was a testament of how out of it he truly was that Malcolm was only noticing these things now. “My pulse is steady and I'm obviously conscious and alert.”

Not taking his word for it, which was a first for the small woman, Edrisa grabbed for his hand with perhaps a little more violence than it was necessary and pulled it towards her.

“It's just...uncomfortable,” he confessed.

Edrisa's eyes were mere slits as she stared at him, fingers pressed against the underside of his wrist. “For your information, your pulse _ is _ steady, but it is also fast and weak and while you are conscious, your brain can't possibly be functioning right because you called  _ me  _ instead of 911!”

Malcolm blinked. Okay, maybe she did have a point.

“Do you know how easily this,” she went on, pointing to his wrist like it was the source of all evil, “can change to no pulse at all?”

He knew. All too well. Having a cardiologist for a father did that. “Synchronized electric cardioversion,” he simply said. “It's what they will do if you take me to a hospital right now.”

Edrisa nodded. She was fairly familiar with the concept, given how much of its name was self-explanatory. “Sounds better than  _ cardiac arrest, _ ” she pointed out.

Malcolm nodded, closing his eyes when the motion caused stars to explode behind his eyes. “I agree...only we don't have to go to a hospital for that. The mall will do just fine,” he went on, ignoring Edrisa's look. Her eyes kept getting smaller and smaller as she squinted at him in pure fury. “They will have an AED...we can use that.”

The medical examiner blinked. “Th-that's... insane!” she blurted. “Kind of brilliant, but insane!”

Malcolm sighed. He hoped she was close to being persuaded to help him because he didn't think he had the energy or the brain-power to present much more arguments. “I can't go back inside a hospital right now,” he confessed. “Not after today.”

Malcolm trusted that the precinct rumor mill had already taken care of spreading the day's events to anyone willing to listen. She had probably already heard about his encounter with the wrong end of a taser gun and how his father had 'helped' catch the killer.

He let the words hang in the air, hoping that Edrisa would form her reasons why he was sick and tired of hospitals without his aid. Truth was, going to a hospital meant being surrounded by strangers, being sedated for the cardioversion, having his guard down. He was carrying too many and too important secrets to allow that to happen.

“We try it your way,” Edrisa sentenced after a beat. “But...if this doesn't work or their EAD isn't working right, I'm calling 911.”

Malcolm smiled through the pain, faintly relieved at her decision.

“And Gil,” Edrisa added, turning the key on the ignition. She totally missed the look of complete horror that consumed Malcolm's face.

*§*

The mall felt like the inside of a giant whale and Malcolm was nothing but a broken, wooden toy whose only wish was to be a real boy.

He moved towards the nearest bathroom, carefully putting one foot in front of the other and willing the ground to stop moving. Malcolm had promised Edrisa that he could make the trip on his own while she fetched the closest EAD and he was doing his best to keep that promise. This whole thing would become pointless if he did a face plant in the middle of a crowded mall. At least twenty people would call 911 and he would find himself in the back of an ambulance in no time.

The stores and people walking by him were nothing but a blur as Malcolm focused solemnly on the bathroom sign. It was only a couple of feet, but the distance seemed insurmountable at that point. He was so tired...

Finally reaching the door, Malcolm all but collapsed against it with all the grace and finesse of a drunk elephant. He caught himself on the cold porcelain of the bathroom lavatory, his legs all but folding underneath him.

The door to one of the stalls behind him swung open, revealing a tall teenager dressed in way too much leather and a carefully applied line of eyeliner over his lashes.

“Dude...just say no to drugs!” the teen imparted with ageless wisdom, before storming out of the bathroom with a disapproving look.

“You...didn't wash your hands,” Malcolm whispered to the empty bathroom. He looked at the mostly-clean mirror above the lavatories. His hair was plastered to his head with an oily mix of sweat and hair product and his eyes had all but sunken into the dark bags beneath them. The bright light of the bathroom made his skin look pale grey, the thin layer of cold sweat covering every inch of him only adding to the illusion that he was made of wax.

Maybe this hadn't been such a great idea after all...

Just as Malcolm was ready to admit defeat, the door burst open, revealing a disheveled Edrisa carrying an orange plastic case in her hands. “I got it!”

Malcolm offered her a weak smile. There was no turning back now.

“You should lie down,” she pointed out as the profiler remained by the lavatory, grasping its edge like it was a lifeline.

He really didn't want to lie down on the floor of a public bathroom in a mall, but he figured that the floor was where he would end up anyway after the AED did its thing. It was better to get down there on his terms rather than add a concussion to his growing list of problems.

Carefully removing his coat, Malcolm rolled it into a ball and used it as a pillow as he crouched down and sat on the floor. It was cold and slightly damp. He shivered at the very real possibility that not all the wetness on that floor was water. “Ready,” he announced somewhat reluctantly as he laid on his back.

“Err...” Edrisa bit her lower lip, staring attentively at the instructions on the lid of the device. They were easy enough, which meant that she was using them as an excuse to avoid looking at him. “You need to pull your shirt up,” she finally said. “Flammable hazard...you know.”

Malcolm's fingers had grown numb and cold. He was running out of time. Instead of fumbling with the tiny buttons on his shirt or trying to pull the snug fabric up, he decided that the best option was just to rip it apart.

Broken buttons flew left and right, pebbling sounds almost covering Edrisa's faint gasp.

“The watch too,” she mumbled, grabbing his wrist to take it off before Malcolm could give it the same treatment.

“Hurry,” he begged. Consciousness was a veil of smoke and already he could feel it sleeping away.

Taking a deep breath of her own, Edrisa wasted no time in attaching the two pads to Malcolm's exposed chest and flipping the switch on the AED.

“ _ Anomalous rhythm detected _ ,” a robotic, vaguely female, emotionless voice announced. “ _ Imminent shock recommended. Setting... two hundred joules. _ ”

Malcolm almost sat back up, panic flaring inside his chest. Two hundred was too much.

Edrisa was looking at him intently, her finger hovering above the EAD's touch screen. She was waiting for his permission.

The possibilities flew by Malcolm's head in less than a second. He could back way, but eventually, his heart was going to give up under the strain, he would lose consciousness and the two hundred joules would become his only option; or he could tell Edrisa to take him to a hospital, where they would start the cardioversion at a lower energy setting, but with no guarantees that they wouldn't be forced to gradually climb to the same two hundred if his heart refused to settle. Either way, he would only be delaying the unavoidable. 

“Do it,” he whispered, fleetingly grasping her hand before letting go and moving his limbs to a safe distance away from her.

Edrisa touched the screen.

“ _ Charging...clear. _ ”

' _ This is going to hurt _ ' was the last coherent thought in Malcolm's brain before he was consumed by pure agony.

*§*

His hands were cold. It was the first thing Malcolm became aware of as he came out of the darkness. The rest of him felt like it was on fire, but his hands were really, really cold.

He could smell cinnamon and gasoline in the air. Edrisa's car.

“I'm going to jail,” she said to his left. “I am most definitely, without a doubt, going to jail.” There was a slight maniac tinge to her voice even as she tried to sound in control. It almost sounded like she was trying to convince herself that going to jail was a good thing. From the trembled in her words, it didn't seem like she was having much success. “What if my cellmate tries to kill me? Or has no sense of humor?”

Malcolm shifted on his seat and risked opening his eyes. The city lights flashed by, a familiar sight that never failed to put him at ease. “You're not going to jail, Edrisa,” he pointed out, pulling himself straighter. “You did nothing wrong.”

She stole a fleeting, nervous glance his way. After assuring herself that she hadn't imagined him talking and the profiler was truly awake, her gaze dropped to his chest.

Malcolm followed her eyes. His ruined shirt was hanging open, revealing two angry burn marks on his skin, one over his right upper chest and the other under his ribcage, on the left. They were almost the same color as the two previous marks he had from the taser.

Now that he was more aware of his own body, Malcolm could still feel some pain in his chest, but it was like someone had turned the volume down. More of an ache rather than the sharp knife of before. He also smelled bad. Really bad.

He had no recollection of leaving that bathroom floor or getting to Edrisa's car. He wasn't exactly a large man, but Edrisa couldn't have possibly have carried him that distance. Had she recruited outside help?

“You shouldn't be alone tonight,” Edrisa blurted out all of a sudden like the thought had just occurred to her. Her eyes were glued to the front shield. If it weren't for the nervous edge to her words, it almost looked like she was talking to herself. “I am by far no cardiologist, like your father,” she went on, “but I do know that your heart might still reverse back to a deadly arrhythmia, despite...what we did back there...” she pointed out, one her hands abandoning the wheel to point vaguely in the direction of the mall they had just hastily abandoned.

“What do you suggest?” Malcolm asked, surprised at how weak and hoarse his voice sounded.

She did look at him then, either having forgotten that he was conscious or scared over how pathetically weak his voice sounded.

She licked her lips, clearly collecting her thoughts. “Ideally, I would drive you to the nearest hospital and they would start an amiodarone IV drip for a couple of hours while keeping a close eye on your heart rhythm.”

Malcolm pulled his jacket closer to his chest. He wasn't exactly cold, but the action seemed to ease the dull ache inside his chest. “Let's say we skip...ideal,” he offered, the words making him tired beyond measure. “What's option number two?”

“My house,” she offered as casually as she could muster. “I mean, I might have something there that can help, plus I can keep an eye on you...I mean, monitor your condition,” she backtracked with more haste than the innocent wording actually required.

Malcolm sunk back into the car seat like he wanted to melt into the upholstery, his strength completely spent. “Sounds perfect,” he whispered as if she had just offered a three-course meal to a starving man.

They parked outside a brick building right next to a small park. Malcolm peered outside. He couldn't see much more than the dark canopies of trees and the metal closed gates. There was a cat standing over a garbage can, its eyes two iridescent green dots under the car's headlights. The cat melted away in the darkness as Edrisa turned the ignition off.

There were no lights on any window of the apartment building. Finding that odd, Malcolm turned his wrist, looking for his watch. Took him a minute to remember that Edrisa had taken it off before applying the paddles to his chest. “What time is it?”

“Little over one in the morning,” she said, taking the key out.

Malcolm looked confused. He had left his mother's house shortly after dinner, not even seven in the evening. Edrisa had arrived shortly after that and from there they had wasted about half an hour getting to the mall and using the EAD. Where had the other five hours gone?

“Did...did you drive the whole night, waiting for me to wake up?” Malcolm asked, unsure if he found the gesture endearing or troubling.

“No,” she confessed, fishing for her keys from the bottom of the heavy coat she was wearing. “I parked outside an ER for a time, trying to decide whether to check you in or not.”

_ Troubling _ , Malcolm decided. When his head was less fuzzy, he would want to know what kept her from dumping his unconscious ass in the hospital. He was beyond grateful that she hadn't, but to know that Edrisa had come so close...

A part of Malcolm, the ugly part that he was ashamed to acknowledge, knew that he had phoned Edrisa because he was aware of her 'crush' on him and figured that she would be more inclined to indulge his crazy ideas. He had used her and manipulated her feelings to suit his own purposes, just like his father did to him his whole life. The thought disgusted Malcolm, bringing a surge of bile to his mouth.

He swallowed convulsively, trying to spare Edrisa's car. He wasn't proud of his actions that night but, the truth was, Malcolm couldn't promise that he wouldn't do it again. The medical examiner was, above all, a good friend, but the profiler feared that one day, she would hit her limit and simply push him away from her life.

She had been the only one to stand by his side, unconditionally, when he had been accused of murder. She alone shared his enthusiasm for some of the uglier aspects of science and the human body, the only one he could talk about things like embalming and different ways to effectively dispose of a body.

And today he had forced her to stand outside an ER for hours, trying to decide between doing the right thing or keeping her promise to him. It was unfair and Malcolm had no idea how to make it up to her.

“My place is on the second floor. No elevator,” Edrisa announced, pulling the door open on his side and jolting out of his dark thoughts. “Can you make it?”

“Great,” Malcolm nodded without enthusiasm. Technically his place was on the second floor as well, the ground floor being an empty store place with tall ceilings that made his house stand three stories up. There was a cargo elevator, but he never used it. “No problem,” he let out with an extra boost of confidence, pushing to his feet.

The world pulled a violent swirl around him, the lights up in the street lamps spiraling out of control at the edge of his vision. Malcolm grasped the edge of the door with all his strength, willing his body to stay upright.

Perhaps  _ no problem  _ had been a tad optimistic on his part.

“I'm good,” Malcolm voiced between deep breaths. He had just moved too fast, that was all. “I'm good...”

Edrisa, standing by his side to stop him from toppling over, gave him a look. “You know, my neighbors will probably just assume that I am a serial killer...after seeing me drag a man looking half-dead to my apartment,” she muttered to herself, moving them towards the front door. “Especially after the body parts' incident,” she added in a whisper.

“Body parts?”

Soft hair slapped against the side of his face as Edrisa whipped her head around, eyes shifting quickly to the floor. “Never mind...stairs,” she warned, hoping the climbing would distract him.

She wasn't wrong. It was plenty of distraction, especially because it took all of Malcolm's concentration to put his foot on the right step, one after the other.

The ninety-nine year old man analogy came to mind again as Malcolm found himself breathing hard after the first four steps. The only problem was, he knew a couple of ninety-nine years old in his family circle of acquaintances that could run laps around him right now.

“Almost there,” Edrisa lied by his side.

They had barely made it to the first floor when a door to their left opened. “Everything alright there, Miss Tanaka?”

Malcolm peered over Edrisa's head at the woman partially hidden by her apartment's door. She was wearing a grey robe and had a pair of slippers with fluffy, pink bunny ears on her feet. There was a glass filled with something honey-gold in her hand and a precariously held cigar between her lips.

Edrisa stiffened by his side, turning slightly towards the woman. “Of course! Everything is fine! Great...more than great, actually!  _ Super great _ !” she let out in a rush of words, plastering a forced smile on her lips. “Gotta go now...good night, Mrs. Burt!”

Instead of closing the door, the woman stepped further outside, giving a long look at the two of them. “You know the rules, Tanaka.” She took a pull out of her cigar as she took in the scene. “No hookers or hobos in the building,” she let out in a puff of air that stunk of nicotine and disapproval before finally retreating into her house.

“Shit,” Edrisa whispered under her breath.

“ _ Hobo _ ?” Malcolm asked quietly. That had to be the first time in his life that he had been mistaken for a homeless person. Or a prostitute, now that he thought of it.

“Mrs. Burt likes to...patrol the building,” the petit woman explained with a snarl. “It's not the first time she has made wrong assumptions.”

“Body parts?” Malcolm ventured a guess.

“Snuggle party,” Edrisa simply said, resuming their slow, shuffling pace.

Even stopping every other five steps, by the time Malcolm reached the door to the medical examiner's house, his legs were shaking like twigs in the wind and what was left of his shirt was covered in sweat.

On the shoulder of Edrisa's coat, where his arm had been draped over, Malcolm could see the dark patch he had left behind. It suddenly dawned on him how much Edrisa had done for him that night. Rushing out of the house after his call, risking her career, dragging his sorry ass halfway across the city, sheltering him...she had truly gone above and beyond for him. “Thank you for doing this,” he found himself saying. “I...it means a lot.”

She looked at him, hand poised over the door before she moved to push it open. “Don't worry,” she finally said, leading him to the orange couch in the middle of the living room/foyer. “You're paying for any therapy I need in the future,” she announced shakily, only half-joking. “And a new couch,” she added, helping him to sit down.

Malcolm didn't really want to catalog the list of smells he could sniff on himself, but now that he was faced with collapsing all over Edrisa's spotless couch, he really couldn't evade it anymore.

He smelled of piss, sweat, and vomit. It was a nasty mix that he most certainly could blame on his less than sanitary uses of an AED in a public bathroom. The pain and the electric shock had probably made him empty his stomach and, from the uncomfortable damp feeling between his legs, empty other things as well.

He would feel embarrassed if he wasn't busy feeling so utterly exhausted. “You got yourself a deal,” he muttered, sliding sideways until his face hit the soft, cushioned seat. He could smell chocolate in the air. It was nice and, literally, sweet.

Malcolm felt like he could sleep for a week, which was saying something for a chronic insomniac.

Two cold fingers touched the side of his neck, just under his jaw, making him jerked back as his eyes flashed open. For a moment, his father's face loomed over his, cradling him against his chest as he had in Claremont's basement, making Malcolm flinch even harder.

One deep breath after, and the bearded grey-haired man's image dissolved into Edrisa's concerned features. She was kneeling in front of him, holding a glass. When had she gone away to get it?

“Sorry, didn't mean to scare the crap out of you. Just...needed to make sure there wasn't, you know...a corpse lying on my couch,” she let out, pulling up to sit in the small space left empty by his folded legs. “Here, you should drink this.”

Malcolm accepted the glass from her hands, finding it hot rather than cold. Tea then. “What is it?” The smell of lemon and a hint of spice graced his nose before Malcolm took a small sip.

“Ginger,” Edrisa pointed out.

“Is this what you meant when you said you had something that could help?” the profiler asked. He savored the warmth spreading inside after the first sip, making him feel a little more human. “Because it's working.”

The medical examiner beamed. “Yes-I mean, no,” she rushed, picking up a small box from the table. Next to it, there was a bowl with what looked like melted chocolate ice cream sitting precariously over a pile of jumbled puzzle pieces. That explained the smell. “I mean, I'm glad it's helping, but I actually meant these,” she said, holding up the box of pain relief patches.

Malcolm blinked. “I'm not in pain,” he stated, feeling the lie burn his tongue. Truth was, he hurt all over, but it wasn't the kind of pain that a pain patch would solve. Unless Edrisa was ready to get ten more boxes and turn him into a mummy.

Her finger pointed at the tiny letters under the brand. “Four percent lidocaine,” she added with a flourish, pausing long enough for the profiler to draw his own conclusions.

Malcolm's eyes lit up in recognition after a beat. “Lidocaine...a painkiller, but also known for its anti-arrhythmic properties,” he announced, finally working it out.

Edrisa's hand reached out and up, waiting for the high five that the situation clearly demanded.

Malcolm figured he owed her that much.

As the sound of their clapping hands faded into silence, Malcolm looked from the box to his dirty clothes. There wasn't a piece of his ruined shirt and pants that wasn't covered in one body fluid or another. He imagined the skin underneath that wasn't any better. “I need a shower,” he found himself voicing. It felt like the sanest thing he had said that night.

By his side, Edrisa's face blushed a violent shade of red before jolting up from the couch like the seat was on fire.

“Sorry...I'm imposing and you've already done so much for me-”

“A shower, of course! I have one of those! Nothing better than a shower to wash out...stuff!”

They spoke at the same time, Malcolm suddenly clapping his lips shut when he realized that Edrisa was trying to break the speed of light with the number of words coming out of her mouth. The silence that followed was nothing short of awkward.

“I'm...I'm gonna get you a towel and some clothes to change into,” Edrisa finally said, quickly disappearing from view.

Malcolm was about to tell her that there was no need for that when his phone started trembling inside his pocket. He had taken the sound off shortly after calling Edrisa, hoping to keep a low profile as he hid in the alley behind his mother's house, and had forgotten to turn it back on.

Malcolm let out a curse as he looked at the screen. There were ten unanswered calls from Gil and five more from Dani.

“This is not good,” he whispered. He knew that he could -should- call both of them back, even though it was the middle of the night. They worried too much, and Malcolm knew that neither Gil nor Dani would sleep until they heard from him.

Malcolm also knew that if he spoke on the phone with either of them, they would immediately know that something was wrong. Hell, at that point, Malcolm figured Gil had already raided his house and, finding it empty, probably had half the precinct looking for the errant profiler.

Malcolm decided to send a text to both instead.

“ _ I'm fine, don't worry. Staying at my mother's house. _ ” he lied.

Confident that the matter was solved, Malcolm sat back, taking stock of his body.

The muscles on his chest and arms were sore to the point of feeling like lead and there was a latent ache to his head like someone had punched him in the face with a block of cement. His heart, however, was quiet enough that he barely felt it now, which was a nice improvement from before.

Right in front of the couch, where most people would have a TV set, Edrisa had shelves filled with a collection of various size skulls. From where he was seating, he could make out what looked like several birds, some mammals, and what definitely looked like an alligator skull.

The collection brought a smile to his lips. He got up, intended to get a closer look, fascinated by a row that contained several simian skulls, eerily similar to human were it not for their diminutive size when he heard something crashing to the floor.

“I'm okay!” Edrisa's voice reached out from wherever she had disappeared to.

Her house wasn't that big and the layout left little to the imagination. Other than the division he was in, which served as lobby, kitchen, living room, and dining room, there were two other doors at the end of a short corridor that ran parallel to the kitchen. It was easy enough to follow the noise she was making to the room on the left.

Balancing himself on the wall, Malcolm walked the short distance to find the small woman emptying half the contents of her drawers like she was digging for buried treasure. Some of the clothes had managed to land on the bed behind her, but most were just scattered across the floor.

“Can I help?” Malcolm asked, rather than trying to figure out what the hell she was doing. Besides, he had a theory.

Edrisa looked up, startled, clutching a red shirt to her chest like it was a protective shield. She pushed her glasses up her nose, sitting back on the edge of the bed. “I don't think any of my shirts will fit you,” she confessed, sounding like it was her fault that her wardrobe hadn't been thought out to accommodate him.

The profiler looked at the devastation of clothes surrounding her. Truth was, he didn't care, just as long as he could take his disgusting clothes off and not make himself nauseated with his own smell. “What about this one?” he asked, picking a random shirt from the pile nearest to him. It was bright pink with ' _ If you think I'm short, you should see my patience _ ' printed in white letters on the front. It looked large enough for him to wear without stretching it beyond repair. “And maybe some old sweat pants?” Everyone had a pair of those laying around, right?

Edrisa nodded, moving to a second drawer to quickly produce a bundle of dark blue fabric. “Bathroom is just ahead,” she informed him. “There are towels on the cabinet under the sink.”

Malcolm gave her an encouraging nod and a smile. “Thank you.”

Edrisa's bathroom was small but functional. She had a stall, much like his, except for the fact that hers was covered in blue tiles and there were non-slip rubber yellow ducks covering the floor of her shower.

Eyeing the ducks suspiciously, Malcolm finally got out of his soiled clothes. Giving the shirt and pants a whiff, the profiler decided that they were both beyond salvation. Looking around the bathroom for the best way to dispose of them without further contaminating Edrisa's home, he spotted a small trash can in the corner by the toilet with a plastic bag inside. “Perfect,” he let out, bending down to take it.

The world did a swirl around him, blue tiles spinning across the walls like he was inside a washing machine.

Malcolm searched blindly for the nearest solid thing he could find, hoping that he could ride the wave of dizziness without crashing to the floor. Although Edrisa's bathroom floor was not even remotely similar to the mall's, the profiler had had enough of lying in bathroom floors for the night.

The tiles finally stopped dancing around him, allowing him to focus on his savior anchor during that unpleasant storm. The toilet.

Taking a deep breath, Malcolm let go of the toilet, happy that the world stayed put. He eyed the shower stall with a mix of dread and longing. The last thing he wanted to happen was for him to pass out and have Edrisa come into the bathroom to find him butt naked in her shower.

The desire to feel clean eventually won. Malcolm decided to take his chances and just avoid sudden changes in altitude for his head.

Which made the task of getting rid of his boxer shorts an interesting and challenging sport.

It was all worth it once he was under the spray of hot water. For the second time that day, Malcolm closed his eyes in bliss under the hot water spray, feeling some of the weariness leaving his muscles and his headache slightly ease.

He was almost asleep on his feet when he heard the crash outside, quickly followed by Edrisa's scream.

Rushing out of the shower, Malcolm hastily grabbed a towel on his way out, wrapping it around his waist. His heart was racing again, but this time he knew the reason wasn't connected to the taser gun or his heart complaining about the electric abuse it had suffered.

No, this time his heart was racing in fear. Edrisa was in danger and he had to help her, no matter what.

Malcolm was ready to face just about anything when he skidded to a stop in the middle of the corridor that led to the apartment's front door.

He had been ready for anything, except for the look on Gil's face as he took in Malcolm's 'attire' and Edrisa's shocked face as she stared at her ruined front door.

“Edrisa? This is  _ your  _ house?” Gil asked, his voice faint and apologetic. There was a trace of embarrassment in there as the lieutenant slowly lowered his gun and took a step back.

Edrisa, too stunned for words, just nodded.

“I thought...” Gil went on, staring at Malcolm and the tiny towel that was currently keeping him this side of decent. Barely. “You weren't answering your phone! And your house was empty,” he blurted out, sounding less like the commanding officer that he was and more like a father who just caught his son making out with the neighbor's daughter. “After what happened today, we were worried sick, so we tracked down your phone here!”

Malcolm's grip on that towel intensified. “I send you a messa-” he started explaining, not really wanting to go into too many details. “Wait... _we_?”

As if on cue, Dani and JT rushed inside, guns out and looking for something to shoot.

Powell took in the scene quietly, her eyes going from Malcolm's dripping figure to Edrisa's frame, collapsed on the couch. There was a smirk on her face, but it looked forced.

JT had taken one look at the almost naked profiler standing in the middle of the medical examiner's house and had promptly spun on his heels, going right back out, a quiet “Nope.” following his hasty retreat.

Finally clueing in on what the situation might look like for them, Malcolm gasped. “No...wait...it's no-”

“It's none of our business,” Gil cut in, finally regaining his composure. “Sorry about the door, Edrisa,” he apologized. “Malcolm will pay for that,” he pressed, sending a look to the younger man that clearly stated whose fault this whole mess was. “I will post a uniform outside, just so you're safe for tonight.”

Malcolm sighed. “Dani...”

The detective, however, was already out the door, calling out to JT to give her a ride home.

“...not this is not what it looks,” Malcolm finally finished in a room empty of police officers.

“They kicked in my door,” Edrisa finally voiced. She looked on the verge of either start crying or laughing hysterically.

Malcolm could relate. His heart had nearly jumped out his chest when Gil and the rest had shown up at his house to arrest him, kicking his door in too. They needed to get them a pair of spare keys to make them stop doing that.

Before Edrisa could decide whether she should laugh or cry, Malcolm sat by her side, grabbing her hand. She was shaking. “I'm sorry about all of this,” he said earnestly. “Gil's right...I will pay for all the physical damage this night has brought you,” he stated. It was the least he could do. “As for the rest...I'll find a way to make it up to you, I promise.”

Edrisa's eyes finally moved from her broken front door to the man sitting by her side. Malcolm was standing close enough to catch her pupils dilating. “You're naked,” she pointed out, sounding like she was informing him of something he wasn't aware of.

Malcolm looked down, just to make sure that the towel was still he place. Blushing in a way he hadn't in years, he dropped her hand. “Good observation,” he said, getting to his feet. “But...I will get dressed and you...are coming to stay with me tonight at my place!”

Edrisa blinked, her eyes still glued to his wet chest. “Wh-what?”

“Your things will be safe in here. Guarded. But you don't have to spend the night in an apartment without a door. We're going to my house. Or a nice hotel! You choose!”

It was not a question or a suggestion. Malcolm wouldn't take no for an answer. It was the least he could do for her. Besides, the damage was done.

By now Gil, Dani, and JT were sure that he was sleeping with the medical examiner. Tomorrow, when things were feeling a little less crazy, he would explain everything to them -perhaps leaving out the trip to the mall part-, but for the rest of that endless night, he and Edrisa  _ were  _ together.

As soon as they found a quiet place to  _ sleep _ .


End file.
